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While perusing the limited organic deli options at the Beverly Hills Whole Foods today, I overheard one of those awfully average boring-chick conversations that tend to ruin the tone of the whole day for the casual observer. Two verynormal girls in verynormal clothes and verynormal hairdos were texting side-by-side on their verynormal blackberrys, discussing one of their pending “not-a-’date’-date dates for this evening.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #1: It’s not a “date”-date.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #2: How do you know? Where are you gonna go for dinner?

VERYNORMAL GIRL #1: I don’t know. He told me to choose.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #2: What are you gonna choose?

VERYNORMAL GIRL #1: I don’t KNOW! I’m not sure what we should do.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #2: Oh, that’s cool.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #1: Yeah.

(long pause)

VERYNORMAL GIRL #1: He keeps texting me all of this stuff I don’t understand. Like he said he would play guitar for me and I asked him what his favorite guitar is, and he wrote, [pulls out blackberry] “Definitely the Fender Mustang or the Gibson Lay Paul, or the Gibson SG, a classic.” Do you have any idea what that means? I mean, if he plays guitar for me, I think that’s like hot.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #2: Really hot.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #1: Rockers are like, hot or whatever… but I don’t understand any of this stuff he’s telling me about. Anyway, who cares?

VERYNORMAL GIRL #2: [chuckles]

VERYNORMAL GIRL #1: I think guitars are hot.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #2: Yah, me too.

VERYNORMAL GIRL #1: Is hummus fattening?

It is during moments like these that I wonder why there are so many uncool, boring-ass girls in the world and who the hell dates them, anyway? I also start to think of phrases like, “youth is wasted on the young” and “rock is wasted on the masses” and “I hate boring chicks.”

My beloved writing partner, Jen, is no such boring chick. I am struck by this thought frequently, especially when she’s doing something cool. Like stating definitively that The Coffin is a bitchin’ axe. Or singing like Patsy Cline. Or rocking Balenciaga as casually as if it were Banana Republic.

The folks at Rock Band announced that the entire album of The Pixies’ “Doolittle” was available for XBOX 360 download on Monday, and by 11pm that night, Jen and I were cruising right through “Gouge Away” to “Debaser.” As she channeled her inner Loverling and blasted through drum parts on expert, I looked at her and thought, “That lady, with those sticks, is so fucking cool.”

And then I looked at myself, playing alongside her and thought, “Shit man, I must be cool too.”